


nothing is more fantastic. nothing is more tragic.

by alison



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Paris (City), Romance, Sexual Content, god it's so gross really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alison/pseuds/alison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after the breakfast show and after one direction, nick and louis find themselves in the same place at the same time.</p><p>the place is paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing is more fantastic. nothing is more tragic.

**Author's Note:**

> i went to paris and this is the result. the title is from a victor hugo quote describing paris, not a (terribly immodest) description of this fic.
> 
> huge thanks to [pixie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anniepanic/pseuds/anniepanic), [caitlin](http://carswinky.tumblr.com), and [ava](http://harrylikesbondage.tumblr.com) for moral support, guidance, and betaing, as well as the wonderful [claire](http://tomlingalore.tumblr.com) for britpicking and encouragement. you're all really, really great.

Nick is walking along Rue de Rivoli, glancing without much interest into the windows of the shops he’s passing, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. His mind is fuzzy with abstract thoughts, so much so that he almost misses the text. It takes him a moment to snap out of his haze, reaching into his pocket.

When he sees the text waiting for him, he wonders if he’s actually still lost in his daydream because only in a dream would Louis be texting him. And only in a dream would the text say what it actually says.

_Haz said you’re in paris. Made me promise to ring you. I’m here for a couple more weeks. Lunch sometime?_

A woman brushing against his shoulder as she passes with a displeased huff makes Nick realise that he’s stopped in the middle of the pavement. Instead of walking on, he moves aside, leaning against the brick of the building between two shop windows, staring at his phone.

He hasn’t seen Louis in years. At least two of them, maybe three. And it’s not like they’d ever been close, never progressing past acquaintanceship. Never, except for one night when they’d both been in LA, at a party with Harry.

Neither of them had known anyone else and they’d gravitated to one another, spending the entire evening off on their own. He’d been softer than Nick knew him to be in the public eye. Away from it all, he’d been kind and gentle and funny. Nick had been utterly charmed.

They’d just finished having a smoke, sitting side by side on a cement staircase, looking out at the city lights together. Their knuckles had brushed and, thinking back, Nick can’t remember if it was an accident or if he’d consciously moved his hand. He just remembers the little shiver of excitement under his skin and the warmth that came after, when Louis’ fingers curled around his own.

“Don’t ask me on a date,” Louis had said, turning to Nick, shadow and light streaking his face. “I’ll say no.”

Nick, who honestly hadn’t gotten to thinking that far ahead even though he’d been brewing a little crush on the boy all night, had just shaken his head. “Wouldn’t think of it, love.”

Louis’ smile had been small as his hand slipped away from Nick’s, slinking around his lower back instead. “Good,” he’d replied softly, moving closer until his head was resting against Nick’s shoulder. “That’s good.”

They’d sat there just like that, talking quietly and ignoring the party behind them until Harry had found them, saying he was ready to go if they were. Back at Harry’s house, Louis stopped in the dark hallway between his and Nick’s rooms, turning back to the older man.

“Hey,” he’d said, taking the few steps to close the distance between them. His eyes were bright even in the darkness, something like a secret passing between them, something only for them. “Goodnight,” he’d whispered, leaning in until his lips were pressing at the corner of Nick’s mouth.

It had been a surprise, the best kind, and Nick had let out a shaky breath, reaching out to hold onto the younger boy’s arm. Louis’ lips had moved then, or maybe Nick’s head had, but the tiniest shift had their lips catching, pressing softly together.

It was far from the hottest kiss of Nick’s life, or the most meaningful, or the most important. But now, almost five years later, thinking back to that moment, the two of them kissing quietly in a dark hallway in Harry’s house, Nick still remembers it as the best kiss of his life.

He looks ahead, staring blankly at the massive Hôtel de Ville in front of him, and he thinks to himself that this trip is already not at all what he’d planned.

 _Lunch is good,_ he types in reply. _Don’t have much of a schedule to work around. Tomorrow?_

By the time he gets to Châtelet, Louis has answered with the name of a café and, simply, “noon.”

-

Nick arrives early, taking a seat at a table outside because the sun is warm and inviting. As he scans the menu, his foot taps incessantly against the pavement beneath it.

It’s just bizarre. He and Louis in Paris at the same time is so incredibly strange, Louis _texting_ him is strange, and all of this happening while Nick is already going through one of the strangest times in his life; it’s all so surreal. It has Nick feeling like he’s in some sort of alternate universe or maybe a film.

He pulls a cigarette from the pack tucked in his breast pocket and he lights it. If he’d hoped he wouldn’t pick that particular habit back up during his stay in Paris, he’d been a fool.

His thoughts wander back to the day after that kiss with Louis, sitting in the kitchen and looking up as Louis had walked past, hauling a suitcase behind him.

“Flying back home,” he’d explained when Nick followed him to the foyer. “Gonna spend some time with the family.”

He didn’t mention the kiss or the previous night at all, the two of them falling so easily together, but he didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened either. Nick saw the acknowledgement in Louis’ eyes and he’s sure it was showing in his own as well.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” Louis had said softly, pushing the hair out of his face.

He waited, their eyes locking until Nick finally nodded, saying, “Yeah, see you.”

With that, he’d left, and the next time Nick did see him, they were on opposite ends of a red carpet, Nick’s hand in his boyfriend’s, and Louis’ hand clutching his girlfriend’s. They didn’t speak, just exchanged smiles past all of the flashing cameras, then turned away.

“Your face is weird.”

Nick’s head snaps up at the nearby voice and he sees Louis standing right in front of the table, looking down at him with his head tilted. After shaking the moment of surprise, he sets his expression to a glare, replying, “Wow, thanks. So glad I accepted this invitation.”

Louis barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he slips between the tables to sit down next to Nick. “No, I just meant- you had a weird smile, sort of tight around the corners.” Once he gets settled, he breathes out and turns, giving Nick a small, sincere smile. “Hi,” he says, voice quieter now.

Nick forgets all about his thoughts and his weird smile and the reasons for it, just for a moment. “Hey,” he says, not sure what to do; they’re in Paris so he thinks it would be acceptable to kiss his cheek, but since neither of them is actually French, it doesn’t feel right. He could try an awkward side hug or an even more awkward fist bump, but instead he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach. “So, Paris?”

Louis looks around, like he’s reminding himself that he really is in Paris, and he nods before meeting Nick’s gaze again. “Paris, yeah. Apparently. You?”

Nick smiles. “Apparently,” he agrees.

When the server comes over, he only interrupts the look they’re passing back and forth, the one that seems to say, _How are we both here?_

And, Nick thinks, maybe, _I’m glad it’s you._

-

“So, really,” Louis says after the wine has been brought over. “What brings you to Paris?”

Nick forces himself not to shrug. He takes a sip of wine, letting the bite of it linger on his tongue before swallowing. “I suppose,” he says slowly, squinting, “that it’s more about what brings me away from London.” He glances to his left, catching Louis’ patient gaze, and gives a small smile. “I like Paris, I do, but mostly I just had to not be in London for a bit.”

“Okay,” Louis says, drawing the word out. “Because?”

Nick hesitates, not sure he wants to go into it. He’s already done this part, the talking through it. He came to Paris to get away from all of it, not to dig it up again. But Louis looks genuinely interested and Nick can’t help but feel like it’s okay to tell him.

“Broke up with my boyfriend a bit ago,” he says, nodding to himself. “Right after I left Breakfast.”

He’s not sure what he expects Louis’ reaction to be, but he’s definitely not expecting what Louis says.

“Me too,” he says, the corner of his mouth turning up in an empathetic half-smile. “Not the Breakfast part, obviously, but the other- yeah.”

It really shouldn’t be that surprising what with the kissing they did, but Nick’s only ever known Louis to be with women. He’d never actually thought about Louis’ sexuality outside of the context of the two of them kissing, not that it would have been his business anyway.

They both sip at their wine and, when Louis pulls out a cigarette and lights it, Nick follows suit even though he’s just had one. He inhales the smoke and breathes it out, long and slow.

“How long ago?” he asks.

“Few weeks,” Louis answers, eyebrows squinting as he thinks. “Two? Three? Somewhere in there. You?”

“Two months,” Nick answers, resting his cigarette in the ashtray and looking Louis over. He’s got a decent tan going, hair messily swept across his forehead in a way that looks more grown-up than it used to, and his eyes. His eyes seem brighter, somehow, than Nick’s ever seen them. Or maybe he just forgot.

“Cause of death?” Louis asks, and it takes Nick a moment to realise he’s referring to the break-up.

His cheeks flush a bit as he looks out toward the street, eyes raking over the passersby. “When I proposed, he said no,” he says quietly. “Was a bit hard to recover from that.”

There’s a long silence before Louis breathes out, “Fuck,” and reaches over to pour some more wine from the carafe into Nick’s glass. “Keep drinking,” he says, gesturing for Nick to pick up the glass. “Don’t stop drinking.”

Nick cracks a smile at that, laughing, but he picks up the glass anyway. “If you insist,” he replies, and tips back the glass.

He doesn’t talk about it any further. Not now. For now, he enjoys the unexpected company of the younger man beside him as Paris pulses with life around them.

-

After lunch, they stroll along the Seine toward the Louvre, where Louis’ hotel is. It’s chilly enough that the wind bites through Nick’s cardigan, making him wish he’d brought a jacket, but when the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, it feels perfect.

 “This was actually really nice,” Louis says beside him, keeping his gaze ahead of him. “I’m shocked.”

Nick rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile, too. “There’s that old Tomlinson charm,” he replies. He twists out of the way of an oncoming pedestrian, a woman carrying a giant bag, then rights himself. “Knew you still had it.”

Louis doesn’t answer right away, head ducked down as he smiles, moving at a leisurely pace. Nick steals a glance at the young man next to him, thinking about how pleasant he’d been at lunch, how similar it had felt to that night when they kissed. It’s always kind of been like that with them, ever since One Direction was in its prime; Louis doesn’t seem to treat Nick the same way he treats his lads or, well, anyone else. It always feels like they have something private between them, something that no one else is allowed in on.

“Harry didn’t actually make me promise to ring you,” Louis says, quietly enough that Nick almost doesn’t hear it over the sound of passing cars.

Smiling, Nick bumps their elbows together as a response, not sure what to say. He’s glad, of course, that Louis wanted to see him, but he doesn’t know what that means, if it means anything. He doesn’t know how much Louis is offering with the statement.

“You never told me why you and your boyfriend broke up,” he says instead.

“You never asked,” Louis replies casually, but Nick can see the slight smirk twitching at his lips.

“Okay,” he says patiently, indulging him. “Why did you break up then?”

This time, Louis doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t offer up a snappy comeback. He keeps walking, looking thoughtfully ahead, and Nick doesn’t push. Nick’s break up was bad; maybe it wasn’t bad in the ways he would have expected, but it was difficult to go through. He knows that sometimes it’s not easy to just blurt it out. Sometimes it’s not even easy to figure out what actually did happen.

“He wasn’t the guy I thought he was,” Louis finally says without looking up. “In the end, I wasn’t what he was looking for. And he wasn’t what I needed.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further and Nick doesn’t ask him to. He knows that some things need talking through, but other things. Other things just need to stay in the past.

-

Nick is browsing rows of books in a bookshop when he gets the next text from Louis.

_are you anywhere near luxembourg??_

Something like a thrill runs down his spine just seeing Louis’ name pop up on his phone. They’d had such a good time the day before, just talking and making each other laugh. It had been easy, like it so rarely is, even with some of Nick’s best mates.

He likes him; that much is clear. He really, really likes him, but he’s not sure how much he can trust it. He’s not sure how much of it is just Paris.

_not too far, why?_

Louis’ reply comes quickly: _apparently i accidentally ordered a bottle of wine instead of a glass? help me!_

Nick laughs loudly in the quiet store, then bites down on his lip as he glances at the clerk at the back. She’s not paying much attention, though, so he calls out a “ _merci_ ” before walking out of the small shop.

When he gets to the café that Louis had texted him the name of, Nick finds the younger man at a table outside, in the back row against the building. He’s staring at his phone, an almost full bottle of Sancerre on the table in front of him.

“I thought you spoke some French,” he says instead of a greeting, slipping into the small chair next to him.

Louis snaps his head up, then immediately sighs like he’s relieved that Nick is there.

It should do nothing to Nick, shouldn’t make something loosen in his chest, but they both know this is not actually about wine. Louis wouldn’t have asked him to come if he didn’t want Nick there and he wouldn’t be relieved now if Nick’s presence wasn’t somehow comforting.

Nick has felt it here in Paris, that yearning for something familiar. He loves the city, loves being here, but he can’t deny that sometimes he gets a bit lost in it, gets a bit lonely. Louis is familiar, makes Nick feel warm from the inside out, and he thinks maybe he makes Louis feel that way, too. He hopes so anyway.

“Yeah, _some_ French. As in, _bonjour, merci, s’il vous plait,”_ Louis says, counting the phrases off on his fingers, then pausing. “ _Merde_ ,” he adds, a devilish and completely immature smile appearing over his features as he glances up at Nick.

“You’re a child,” Nick points out, lifting an eyebrow imperiously.

Louis shakes his head, bringing his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip before answering. “Not anymore. I’m all grown up now, haven’t you heard?”

“Must have missed the announcement, pet,” he answers.

“Well,” Louis says, sitting up straight. “I am.”

The thing is, Nick can tell. Louis is still Louis, still an idiot sometimes, still quick to make jokes at other people’s expense. He’s still got that spark in him that he had when he was a teenager, when Nick first met him. But he’s different now, calmer and quieter. Nick gets the feeling that Louis could take care of himself now.

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring at Louis thoughtfully until the waiter comes over and interrupts, asking if Nick would like anything. After some garbled French and gesturing, Nick is able to communicate that he’d like another glass. When the waiter is gone, Nick turns back to Louis, who’s taking another sip of his wine. His cheeks seem to be a bit pinker than a minute before.

Nick forces himself not to stare this time, looking out at the gardens across the busy street instead, watching the sun start to set over the city. “Maybe you are,” he finally concedes, letting his knee bump into Louis’ under the table.

-

“God, I love wine,” Louis says, tipping back the last of his glass, the bottle empty now. Nick’s had two glasses and his limbs feel heavy with it, not quite drunk, but warm and relaxed. Louis’ had more than him, enough that he’s starting to laugh at things that probably aren’t actually all that funny.

Nick wouldn’t actually know because he’s laughing right along with him.

“Didn’t peg you for a wine drinker,” Nick says, pulling out a cigarette now that the wine is gone.

Louis shrugs next to him, then makes grabby hands at Nick’s cigarettes, grabbing the pack and taking one for himself. “I’m not, really,” he says, tucking the cigarette between his lips and talking around it, “but I am here.”

Louis pats his jacket, looking for a lighter, but Nick gets to his first. He cups a hand around Louis’ cigarette and flicks the lighter, holding steady as the flame singes the tip. Louis stays still for it, drawing in a breath, his eyes slightly glassy and trained on Nick.

“ _Merci_ ,” he says as Nick pulls away, tending to his own cigarette. “Hey. Nick.”

When Nick looks up, Louis is still staring at him, the two of them pressed close together behind the tiny café table. Their legs have been resting against each other since they finished their first glasses.

“Yeah, love?” he replies softly, amused by Louis’ drunkenness but also trying desperately to ignore the way his heart seems to be flopping around in his chest.

“My hotel is really far away,” he says, eyebrows scrunching. “It’s across a river.”

Nick laughs, nodding indulgently. “It truly is,” he answers, then takes a drag from his cigarette.

“Yeah,” Louis answers with a soft sigh, a little smile playing at his lips as he turns back toward the street, watching the people go by.

Their legs stay pressed together and Nick can’t tell anymore if it’s the wine that’s making him feel warm or if it’s just Louis.

-

By the time they leave, Louis isn’t as drunk, just sleepy and soft. Nick doesn’t ask him if he wants to come home with him, figuring Louis will say something if he doesn’t. He just starts walking in the direction of his apartment, glad with each step he takes that Louis is still by his side.

When they get to his, he stops outside the door and turns to the younger man, a question in his expression. “This is me,” he says, nodding his head toward the door.

Louis hums through a smile. “Let’s see it then.”

Swallowing down the butterflies fluttering up into his throat, Nick nods and punches in his code, letting them into the building. He’s on the first floor, one level up, and Louis climbs the stairs closely behind him. When Nick lets them into the small flat, he cringes at the stuff he’s left out: open suitcases, an empty mug from his morning coffee, half a dozen pairs of shoes strewn about. He tries to kick some of it out of the way, but then Louis is sliding up against his back, hands sliding around Nick’s waist.

“Leave it,” he murmurs, his breath warm against Nick’s shoulder, seeping through his shirt. “Take me to bed.”

Nick doesn’t move, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of Louis pressed up against him, arms circling his waist. He doesn’t want to assume anything, so he clears his throat, replying, “Gonna kip here tonight then?”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, just breathing against Nick’s shoulder, and it’s maddening. Nick wants Louis, has wanted him all night, since the day before, since five years ago, probably. He wants him, of course he does, but he’ll be okay if that’s not what this is. He just needs to know.

“My hotel is far away,” he answers softly, then pulls away from Nick and circles him until they’re face to face. “Across a river, remember?”

Nick’s fingers are twitching to touch him. The only light is a dim one in the kitchen behind him, leaving them in relative darkness, but Nick can still see Louis as clear as anything. His hair is slightly mussed from the evening, bits of it sticking up in a way that comes across as intentional. His pink lips are just slightly parted and his eyes are shining and he smells better than anything Nick has smelled, wine and musk and the city sticking to his skin.

He’s the sexiest person Nick has ever been standing toe to toe with in the darkness. He’s maybe the sexiest person, full stop.

“Rivers can be tricky,” Nick answers, his throat feeling dry and his head starting to spin. “Could fall in. It’s dangerous.”

Louis smiles at that, a lazy, mischievous sort of smile, and Nick is simultaneously endeared and aroused.

“Very dangerous,” he agrees, his voice dropping to a whisper. He steps forward, right into Nick, until their chests are touching and Nick has to close his eyes because his senses are being assaulted. He repeats, “Take me to bed,” breathing the words against Nick’s jaw and making Nick shiver.

It’s stupid, really. Nick’s whole life has been turned upside-down in the past few months, from leaving his dream job and trying to figure out what to do now to ending his relationship of two years with a man he’d been ready to spend his life with. Everything feels in flux, like he’s just sort of drifting, not sure where he’ll land, and it’s so fucking stupid to be pulling Louis into his bedroom in Paris, to be peeling off his shirt and watching the younger man do the same. It’s stupid, but Nick is drunk on Louis’ scent, on his eyes, on everything about him, and he’s not thinking very clearly.

“Fuck, look at you,” he chokes out when Louis’ chest is bare, leaving his soft, tanned skin exposed. He looks like some sort of mythological god, something that had to be imagined up because he’s too fantastic to be real.

“Yeah, look at me,” Louis says, dropping his hands to the button of his jeans and popping it open. He looks at Nick, keeps glancing up at him as he pushes his jeans and pants down, revealing his cock and his thighs and his toned calves, until he’s completely naked and Nick is frozen in his place.

Louis stands there for a moment, dropping a hand to his cock, starting to thicken up, but not quite hard yet. He doesn’t get his fingers around himself properly, just touches like it’s an impulse, and he lifts an eyebrow at Nick. “Now let’s look at you,” he says, but makes it sound like a question, like he’s asking for permission.

Nick isn’t sure he’s done looking at Louis, not sure he’ll ever be done looking at Louis like this, but he nods, wanting him to know that he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get his arms to move, though, feels numb from the sight before him, so he’s relieved when Louis steps forward, bringing his hands to the clasp of Nick’s trousers.

“This okay?” he asks, working open the button and lowering the zip.

Nick swallows because they’re close again and Nick’s senses can’t keep up. “Yes,” he answers, wanting to be clear. “Very, very okay.”

In contrast to everything up to this point, Louis’ smile is almost shy, hidden as he ducks his head, focusing on getting Nick’s kit off. He drops to his knees to slip Nick’s trousers and pants off of his feet and, when he’s finished, he looks up from his place, that same nearly-shy smile on his face.

“I’m not very good at this,” he says, then runs a hand up Nick’s thigh. “I’d like to try, though, if you don’t mind getting a second rate blowjob.”

Nick is hard just from having Louis kneeling at his feet, just from the light touch against his thigh, so he doubts it would take much to bring him over the edge anyway. He can’t imagine Louis is second rate at anything, though, especially this.

“Sure you want to? There are other things-“

“No, I want to,” Louis interrupts gently, then closes his eyes, pressing a kiss to the base of Nick’s cock, making him tremble. “Okay?”

Nick breathes out a long, shaky breath, his skin suddenly buzzing hotly. Louis’ kisses him again, soft and careful against the sensitive underside of his cock, and it takes Nick a hazy minute to realise that Louis had asked a question.

“Yes,” he says, not remembering the exact question, but knowing that the answer is definitely yes.

His eyes are closed when Louis starts mouthing at him, almost timid as he moves over Nick’s cock, pressing hot open-mouth kisses over the skin. He’s not shy about it, not now, but he’s moving slowly, working Nick up in a way no one really has before. Usually it’s straight to the sucking, but this treatment he’s getting is making him vibrate with want.

Opening his eyes, he looks down and watches Louis gently hold his cock, smearing his wet lips over it. His eyes are fluttering like he’s enjoying it, hot tongue flicking out here and there, and he looks so incredibly lovely like this. He hasn’t even taken Nick into his mouth and Nick is already dripping, mind fuzzy with how good it feels.

And that’s all before Louis’ gaze flicks upward, locking on Nick’s as he licks gently over the head.

“Don’t fuck your hips forward,” he says, giving Nick a slow tug. His face is wet, smears of his own spit and Nick’s precome across his chin, and it’s hotter than it should be, probably. Nick wants to run his thumb through the wetness, make him even more messy.

He feels dazed, throbbing under Louis’ touch and buzzing with something more than arousal. “Right,” he says hoarsely. “Okay, I won’t.”

And then Louis is taking him in, mouth stretched as he sucks down around him. He only takes a couple of inches before he starts bobbing slowly, almost curiously, adjusting to Nick’s thickness. Nick watches it, amazed that his cock is actually in Louis’ mouth, that Louis is humming with interest as he slurps at the head before pushing down again, taking a little bit more.

He has to remind himself every second not to push further, to ignore the instinct and just let Louis do what he wants, what he’s comfortable with. And even though Nick has been sucked off by some of the best, has been taken deep and fast and hard, this is good in an entirely different way. It feels like his senses are heightened, able to feel every minute touch, every swipe of Louis’ lips, every flick of his tongue.

“How are-“ he starts, trying to clear his head enough to turn his thoughts into words. It’s a slow process and he pants as he looks down at Louis, at his pink mouth wrapped so beautifully around Nick’s cock. “How is this happening?” he finally gets out, trying not to whine the words out, his muscles going tight with need. “I can’t believe – fuck, you look so good.”

Louis looks up then, stares at Nick as the hand not holding Nick’s cock slinks down between his own legs and touches himself. He palms at his cock for a moment, still sucking Nick’s so wonderfully carefully, before he curls his fingers around himself and tugs. Nick watches it all, groans lowly as Louis starts to work himself over, losing some of his suction in the process.

Nick wants to stay like this forever, with Louis’ mouth wrapped around him, the younger boy wanking himself on his knees. He probably could, honestly, but soon enough Louis starts panting, fisting his cock faster and it’s clear that he’s getting close.

 _From having my cock in his mouth,_ Nick thinks surreally, sparks shooting under his skin.

As Louis gets more worked up, he falters more, pulling off to breathe heavily against him before taking Nick in again, sloppy and uncoordinated. He still can’t take more than half of Nick, can’t let him near his throat, but it doesn’t matter. It’s amazing just like this. But when it’s clear that Louis is going to come soon, Nick suddenly knows he wants to come with him.

He takes a step back, pulls out of Louis’ mouth and hand, and before Louis can ask or complain, he drops to his knees in front of Louis, the two of them kneeling face to face. Grabbing his own dick, he starts pulling himself off, watching Louis do the same in front of him. He watches Louis’ stomach muscles clenching, his cock pink and hard in his hand, his face still smeared with wetness.

“We didn’t even make it to bed,” Louis says, breathless as he wanks, smiling for a second before his mouth falls open with a quiet moan.

Nick smiles too, bites at his lip and tries not to think about the fact that his hand is wet with Louis’ spit as it slides over his cock in quick motions. It’s too much, all of it too much, and he doesn’t want to come before Louis is ready.

“Are you complaining?” he asks, choking back a groan.

“Always,” Louis answers with another quick smile before it’s replaced with arousal. “Maybe not this time though,” he continues, nodding.

Then, Louis shifts, like he’s trying to ease the ache in his legs, and he pushes himself off of his calves, straight up on his knees. It brings him even closer and Nick can’t resist. He mirrors Louis, up on his knees, and their cocks nearly bump into each other, their knuckles brushing as they stroke themselves. Nick would have a meltdown over that if he wasn’t preoccupied with the fact that their faces are now close enough that he can feel Louis’ laboured breathing against his mouth.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, voice hoarse, letting his eyes fall shut. He can feel every one of Louis’ breaths, every hitch, every tremble. “Can I?”

He’s not even consciously sure what he’s asking, but when Louis breathes out, “yeah,” against his lips, Nick leans forward, kissing him.

He groans at the contact, at the slick softness of Louis’ lips under his, at the taste of himself on Louis’ tongue. He remembers their first kiss, how it had made Nick’s head spin with how good it felt, and he feels a bit of déjà vu now. Louis may not be entirely practiced in the art of blowjobs, but this. He’s definitely an expert when it comes to kissing.

“God,” he mumbles into the kiss after a minute, his balls starting to tighten up. “Are you close? I’m so close, Lou.” He doesn’t bother pulling away even as he speaks, keeping his lips touching Louis’, nipping at them and pressing in again.

“Yeah,” Louis answers quickly, nodding against Nick. “I’m – I – “

Nick can tells he’s on the edge and he doesn’t try to hold himself back anymore as he slides his open mouth against Louis’, practically whimpering into it as he tumbles toward his orgasm. He’s right on the edge when he feels a splatter of wetness hit his hand, his cock, and Louis is releasing a strangled cry into his mouth.

Nick can feel Louis’ hot come on his hand, can feel it slicking him up as he strokes himself, and it only takes seconds before he comes, too, spilling between them, mouth still pressed to Louis’.

They kiss through it, totally uncoordinated but unwilling to part, and they keep kissing as Nick finishes, his hand stilling on his cock where it’s wet with their come. The kiss slows as they come down together, shaky breath spilling between their mouths. Nick knows it’s time to pull away, can already feel his knees aching. He knows Louis must be feeling it more given that he’s been in the position longer but he doesn’t make a move to pull away and Nick is grateful.

Finally, though, Louis falls back on his calves, face flushed and wet hand resting against his thigh next to his softening dick. He looks up at Nick, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Now will you take me to bed?” he asks, a glimmer in his eyes.

Nick laughs, still a little breathless, and answers, “Yes, sir.”

-

When he wakes up, he’s almost expecting Louis to be gone, like how he’d run out the morning after their first kiss. Their only kiss until last night. But as he blinks open his eyes, he immediately sees Louis’ bare back, the covers scrunched down low over his hip, revealing just enough of his gorgeous, tanned arse to make Nick press his face into his pillow, smiling.

Instead of lingering like a creep, he rolls away, sliding off the bed as quietly as possible. As he walks around, he glances down for a second, seeing Louis’ sleeping face half hidden by his own pillow. He looks relaxed, body stretched out and arm hanging off the bed. Nick smiles and resists the urge to press a kiss to his temple, turning out of the bedroom instead.

Since he arrived in Paris, he goes down to the boulangerie two blocks down from his apartment most mornings for breakfast, grabbing a croissant or some other kind of pastry and bringing it back to the flat to have with his morning coffee. He’s sure his waistline does not appreciate Paris as much as his taste buds do, but for once in his life, he doesn’t really care.

This morning, though, he doesn’t want to leave and risk Louis waking up in the apartment alone, so he searches the tiny kitchen for anything that might make do. He’s got most of a baguette from the previous day so, after confirming that he still has eggs and milk, he sets about making some eggy bread, snickering to himself when he remembers that Americans call it French toast. When in France, he supposes.

The eggy bread turns out halfway decent and he serves it with a bit of crème fraiche and fig preserves. Looking at the plate, he wonders if maybe he should be a chef as his new career because his plating is quite impressive, he thinks.

Louis still isn’t up, so Nick makes his way back into the bedroom to wake him. When he walks in, he sees Louis rubbing at his face, rolled onto his back in the middle of the bed. The covers have either slipped further or they’ve been pushed down because now they’re around Louis’ thighs, his naked body visible from there up. Nick makes an effort not to stare at his cock where it’s resting against his hip, only mostly soft.

“Morning,” he says, leaning against the wall and watching Louis slowly wake up. “I made breakfast if you want some.”

Louis’ eyes are still a little fuzzy with sleep when he gives Nick a sleepy smile and nods. “Cheers, mate,” he says, voice raspy.

Nick doesn’t move, just watches as Louis stretches, body spreading out across the bed. He looks incredible naked and stretched out like this; it’s not fair how good he looks, actually, not when Nick’s gut is starting to bloat with French pastries and wine.

“You look like you want to eat me,” Louis says, and Nick hadn’t noticed he’d been raking his eyes over Louis’ body, but he tears his gaze up to the boy’s face now. Louis is smiling, eyes a little puffy, and Nick feels something twist inside him at the sight.

He coughs and looks away, hoping his cheeks aren’t as pink as they feel. He’s a grown man for fuck’s sakes. “While I’m sure you’d be delicious, I did make actual food.” He nudges his head toward the kitchen, then meets Louis’ gaze again. “And don’t tell me you’re not hungry because I’m very proud. I didn’t burn a single thing.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis relents, kicking the covers away completely and sitting up at the edge of the bed. “Be a mate and find my pants while I have a wee. Then I’ll come eat your wonderful non-burnt breakfast.”

He walks off to the bathroom then, leaving Nick to search for his pants. He finds them halfway under the bed, scrunched up with his jeans, and grabs them, following Louis’ path to the bathroom. The door is open and Nick peeks in to see Louis with his back turned toward the door as he has a wee.

“Pants,” he says, dropping them on the counter. “If you’d rather have a clean pair, you can borrow some.”

“Nah,” Louis says, unfazed by Nick standing in the doorway while he pisses. “After I have a shower, maybe.”

Nick nods and turns away then, desperately trying not to feel pleased that Louis will be staying long enough to take a shower. He also tries not to hope that maybe the shower will be shared, but he falls short of his goal there.

-

“What are your plans for the day?” Louis asks once he’s finished with his eggy bread, which he had even admitted was not bad, to Nick’s surprise.

Nick shrugs, sipping his coffee. “Don’t really have any.” He hasn’t made plans since he got to Paris, preferring to take it one day at a time. “You?”

Louis taps his fork against his lip as he thinks. He’s still wearing just his pants, sat cross-legged on Nick’s sofa. “Let’s go to a museum or something,” he says, twisting his lips.

It throws Nick off a bit, the assumption that they’re going to spend the day together. He doesn’t have a problem with it at all; he’s been starting to get lonely here in Paris and Louis is definitely a laugh, but he hadn’t expected it. Things have certainly changed in the past few years.

“ _You_ want to go to a _museum_?” he asks, turning it into a joke. “I’m not sure if they have any video game museums in Paris, love.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says easily, then breezes past it. “Do you want to or not?”

Nick considers him for a moment, mostly for show. Of course he wants to. There’s not really anything to consider. “Which one then?” he asks, then sips at his coffee.

Louis shrugs and looks past Nick, to a bookshelf filled with books on Paris at the other end of the small living room. As he hops up and crosses the space, Nick only looks over his mostly naked body for a second before he lowers his gaze to his coffee mug. When Louis returns to the sofa, he’s got a Paris tour guide in hand and he flips the pages with his thumb, closing his eyes. He stops on a random page and drops his finger, then opens his eyes, looking to see what he’s landed on.

“Centre Pompidou,” he reads, brow furrowed for a moment before he shrugs again, looking up at Nick. “Alright, let’s get our contemporary art on, I guess.”

As Nick agrees, he has no idea what this day will hold. He doesn’t know if the night before was a fluke, a product of too much wine or maybe just a bit of comfort between two people alone in a big city. He’s not sure what it is that Louis is looking for, not even sure what he’s looking for himself.

But, like his attitude toward his expanding waist, for once he doesn’t care. He’s not going to worry about it or overthink it because he’s in Paris and Louis is here with him and he’s not sure the rest of it matters.

When they get ready, they take separate showers, but Louis doesn’t seem like he’s shrinking away. He’s not running, not like last time, and Nick feels settled as they set off, heading north.

-

Louis lasts about four minutes in the museum before openly laughing. By the fifteen minute mark, Nick has joined in.

“It’s literally pieces of white paper tacked to a white wall,” Louis says incredulously, waving his arm at the piece. “How is this art?”

Nick studies it, choking back a laugh so the staff member sitting at the other side of the room doesn’t kick them out. “Well,” he hedges, forcing his expression into mock seriousness, “it clearly represents, y’know, society. The media. The dangers of assimilation.”

Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It represents the _artist_ ” – he makes air quotes with his fingers as he says the word – “being too broke to buy actual materials.”

Nick gestures to the small plaque next to the piece with a small biography of the artist, which mentions his tendency to use everyday materials in his work. “It actually kind of says that.”

Louis throws his hands up, not bothering to read the plaque. “I’ve been ripped off,” he says, loudly enough for the man across the room to hear. “I want a refund. I won’t be duped into believing this is art.”

Nick blushes madly, stepping closer to Louis and covering his mouth. He throws an apologetic look over his shoulder toward the staff member and drags Louis away, his hand still clasped over the boy’s mouth. “Christ, you’re going to get us kicked out,” he says, but he’s laughing over the words, a strange energy coursing through him.

Louis bites Nick’s finger where it’s covering his mouth and there’s a moment, just a second, where Nick stills, focused on the feeling of Louis’ teeth on him. His eyes meet Louis’ and there’s recognition there, like they’re both thinking the same thing, but Nick doesn’t let it linger. He pulls his hand away, crinkling his nose, and wipes his hand against Louis’ shirt.

“Gross,” he says, but he doesn’t dwell on it, looking down the hall. “Alright, let’s find some more art to make fun of.”

Louis grins, properly grins like it’s the best news he’s ever heard, and skips past Nick into the next room.

-

As they make their way through the museum, they alternate between fake snobby commentary and outright laughing at things. If it were anyone else, Nick would probably pretend to appreciate some of it, hum and nod at the works like he understands, but there’s something freeing about doing it this way. He’s not pretending at all and he’s having one of the best days of his life, honestly.

They pass by a wall with mounted shelves holding dozens of globes, all with brown duct tape lumps of different sizes and shapes protruding out of them. Strung above the globes are photographs of explosions, acts of destruction. It doesn’t take an expert to understand the message.

Nick and Louis stand silently, looking at the piece, and it seems to sober them. They don’t laugh; in fact, Louis steps closer, eyes scanning the photographs and the marred globes with a straight face. When he turns back to Nick, he rolls his eyes.

“Can’t even make fun of this one,” he says, frowning, then grabs Nick’s arm and pulls him along.

It doesn’t take long for them to find something that makes them laugh again, but when they pass by a window overlooking the city, Nick stops, looking out. It’s the best thing he’s seen since being in the museum and he realises in an instant that the real art is out there. The art is the city itself.

“Hey, Lou,” he says, still looking out the window. When Louis approaches, Nick turns to him, smiling. “Let’s get out of here.”

Louis doesn’t need to be convinced. “May as well. Not like I’m getting any culture in here.”

“Yes but, to be fair, you wouldn’t know culture if it smacked you in the face,” Nick says, stepping away from the window toward the exit.

When small fingers dig into his sides, he can’t say he didn’t have it coming.

-

An hour later, they have a bottle of wine bought from a Carrefour City and they’re passing it back and forth where they sit at the edge of the brick pathway along the bank of the Seine. It’s a beautiful afternoon and there are people all over, but it feels like there’s some sort of buffer around them, like they still have some privacy.

“It’s weird that no one’s come up to you, asking for a photo,” Nick muses, then takes a swig from the wine bottle.

Louis is quiet beside him, feet dangling over the edge of the pathway. He shrugs, looking out at the river. “It’s not really like that anymore.”

It’s surprising to Nick. The band has been broken up for a couple of years now, but he can’t imagine that people have forgotten them. He can’t imagine forgetting Louis.

“Do you miss it? The band?” he asks, passing the bottle to Louis.

“Sometimes,” Louis says thoughtfully, holding the bottle without drinking from it. “The way you miss something that you don’t actually want back, you know?”

It hits Nick hard in the chest, that statement. Because he does know, he knows it _well_. That’s basically his entire life right now, honestly, missing things that he doesn’t want back. “I do know,” he says, surprised by how quietly it comes out.

Louis turns to him then, their eyes locking, and he just looks. Nick can tell he understands, maybe even all too well. They seem to share something in the moment. In a way, it feels like they’re sharing just about everything.

“Yeah,” Louis says, his lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah, I know.”

He lets his gaze linger for another few seconds before sighing and taking a sip of wine. Nick doesn’t look away, thinking about why he came to Paris, what he was looking for, and wondering if he’s found it.

-

When the wine is gone, Nick is buzzed from it. It’s late in the afternoon and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, so the alcohol had worked quicker than usual, going straight to his head. He can tell Louis is a bit fuzzy around the edges, too, and he decides they probably need to eat.

“Let’s just go to my hotel,” Louis suggests when Nick asks where he wants to go. “We can get room service and chill.”

Nick thinks that sounds perfect, being able to lounge around Louis’ hotel room instead of going into an actual restaurant, so he follows Louis’ lead, back across the Seine toward the Louvre.

They walk in near silence and, fifteen minutes later, they’re walking into the hotel and taking an elevator to the fifth floor. When Nick walks into the room behind Louis, he’s almost surprised that it’s not a massive suite. It’s definitely a nice room, especially for Paris, but it’s missing some of the grandiosity that Nick expects when he imagines celebrity hotel rooms. He wonders if Louis chose a simpler room on purpose, if he likes the change.

The one thing it does have is a small balcony facing south over the Tuileries, the Eiffel Tower visible beyond that. For the view alone, Nick imagines the room wasn’t actually all that affordable.

They order food and another bottle of wine which probably defeats the purpose, but Nick just tells himself they’re in Paris. The telly plays lowly, a news program in rapid French that Nick can’t even catch a word of. They eat in relative silence until Louis hauls his leg up over Nick’s thigh, a plate of food balanced on his own lap.

“How long are you staying in Paris?” he asks, leaning against the back of the sofa.

Nick honestly doesn’t have an answer. When he left, he made sure not to make plans, not knowing when he’d be back. He thought he’d come back when he figured it out, but now, after a week in the city, the idea of going home is intimidating.

“Not sure,” he answers, setting his mostly finished plate aside. “Indefinitely, I guess.”

Louis’ eyebrows lift curiously. “Like, you might just stay? Not go back?”

Nick shrugs and drops a hand to Louis’ foot, sweeping his thumb along the inside of his ankle. “Maybe.”

When he looks up, Louis is staring at where Nick’s touching his ankle, tracing circles into his skin, and Nick feels a tiny shiver run down his spine. They haven’t acknowledged the shared orgasms of the night before all day, not more than a fleeting look. It’s kind of nice, honestly. There’s no pressure this way.

That said, Nick would not be upset if it happened again. And, somehow, he thinks he knows that Louis feels the same.

“Are you going rogue on us?” Louis asks when his gaze drifts back up to Nick’s face.

Nick hums, pushing his hand higher on Louis’ ankle, dragging his jeans up enough to uncover the word _Rogue_ tattooed into his skin. He smirks and grabs his phone out of his pocket, then takes a quick photo of the tattoo.

“I’ll wait until you’re gone to post that on Instagram,” he says, turning off his phone again with a mischievous smile.

“No,” Louis interrupts softly. “No, post it.”

It surprises Nick. When he’d been close with Harry, there was so much he had to be careful about, had to get permission for anything he put online that had to do with Harry. He couldn’t tweet when they were out because if he did, there would be a thousand girls surrounding them within minutes. And now Louis is telling him to go ahead and post a photo that’s clearly him, which will not only tell the world that they’re together, but also that Louis is in Paris.

Nick eyes him for a long moment to be certain that he’s sure, then nods and grabs his phone. He crops the photo closely around the tattoo, gives it a nice filter, and posts it with no caption. As he looks at his work, he smiles a bit, thinking about how very much one picture can say.

“Any other body parts you want on my Instagram?” Nick asks, pointing his phone at Louis as if he’s going to take a picture even though the camera isn’t even open.

Louis strikes a quick seductive pose where he’s sprawled out on the sofa, then laughs, rolling his eyes. “Maybe later,” he says casually, grabbing a chip from his plate and shoving it into his mouth.

-

They talk about going out again after dinner, but neither makes a move to do so. As the minutes, then hours tick by, it becomes more and more apparent that they’re not going anywhere.

Around ten, Nick starts wondering if he should leave. It feels weird, somehow, the thought of going back to his apartment alone, but he also doesn’t want to assume anything. He doesn’t want to be rude, so he turns to Louis as the French cooking show they’d been watching ends.

“Should I head back to mine then?” he asks, forcing himself not to add an “or” to the end of the question.

Louis shrugs, pulling his legs off of Nick’s lap and says, “Come have a cig with me,” as if that answers Nick’s question at all.

But Nick follows him out onto the balcony and he immediately sees the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, the light show going. “Must be ten,” he says as he reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes.

“I can’t decide if I love that or hate it,” Louis says once he’s lit his own cigarette, leaning his elbows against the wrought iron railing, looking out.

Nick leans next to him, their elbows almost touching, and takes a drag from his cigarette. “Why do you have to choose?”

The view is gorgeous and, yeah, the flashing lights from the Eiffel Tower are a bit gaudy, but from a distance it’s kind of nice, like the ultimate twinkly lights. The city below it is just as beautiful, though, and Nick smiles in the darkness as he looks out over it.

“I used to hate you,” Louis says quietly next to him. When Nick turns to him, smile changing to a frown, Louis goes on. “Like, a long time ago. When Harry started ditching me for you.”

Nick doesn’t smile again, just looks back to the city and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Oh.”

“It passed over time,” Louis clarifies, readjusting his stance and knocking his elbow into Nick’s in the process. He doesn’t pull it away, rests his arm there, touching Nick’s. “That night, you know that party? In LA?”

Nick tries to ignore the way his stomach flips at the mention of that night. “I remember it,” he answers, and it sounds like some sort of admission.

“I hadn’t thought about you in so long,” Louis says, then brings his cigarette to his lips. Nick waits while he breathes the smoke in, then out again, before he continues. “When I saw you that night, I realised how stupid it was, me hating you, because I actually loved being with you that night.”

The Eiffel Tower stops sparkling like mad then, the light show ending. Nick looks up at it, at the more subtle lit- up outline of it. He thinks he likes it better this way. “I loved that night, too.” He’s not sure if it’s the leftover wine in his system or the cool evening air or the city lights; or maybe it’s just Louis’ arm against his that has him spilling the truth.

Turning to the boy next to him, he smiles when he sees that Louis is already looking at him.

Louis smiles back, small and sincere, and Nick rotates his body, facing him. They move together, sliding closer until Nick can tilt his head down and kiss him, soft and sure, bringing a hand up to cup the side of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair.

It seems as if the city noise dies to nothing, cloaking them in silence as they kiss. It’s nothing like the kiss from the night before, the two of them already near orgasm when their lips finally touched. It feels more like that first kiss in a dark, quiet hallway. It feels private. Safe.

Nick’s head spins as Louis’ lips part against his own, their open mouths pressing together, moving together, warm and soft. Nick takes his time with it, tasting Louis’ lips before dipping his tongue into his mouth. It makes his knees feel embarrassingly weak when Louis’ tongue finds his, the taste of smoke left behind on their tongues.

“Stay here tonight,” Louis whispers, his slick lips sliding against Nick’s.

If he could take a step back and look at it from the outside, Nick would see that it’s one of the most romantic moments of his life. He’s on a balcony overlooking Paris, the Eiffel Tower lit up against the night skyline, and he’s holding this boy in his arms, this _man_ who, if Nick is completely honest, he’s been attracted to since before that night five years ago. And now it feels like they’re alone together in a city that doesn’t recognise them, a city that they’ve been too wrapped up in each other to pay much attention to.

It’s one of the most romantic moments of his life, but he’s too wrapped up in Louis to notice that, too.

He doesn’t realise he hasn’t responded to Louis’ request until Louis pulls back, looking up at him with dark eyes and pink cheeks.

“Yeah,” Nick says before Louis can ask. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He slides the backs of his fingers over Louis’ cheek, watching a smile bloom on his face, and then there’s a small hand in his, pulling him inside. He lets himself be led to the bed, but he stops at the foot of it, tugging Louis closer. It’s his turn.

“I want to get on my knees for you,” he murmurs, tilting in to kiss Louis softly as his hands find the flies of his trousers.

He gets them undone, then pulls away from the kiss, dropping to his knees. He’s glad there’s a rug there because he already thinks he’d like to be here for a while, just like this, knelt at Louis’ feet.

Once he’s slipped Louis’ trousers down his legs, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his pants, pulling those down as well. He doesn’t bother having Louis step out of them, just leaves them pooled around his ankles as he turns to Louis’ cock where it’s hanging heavy between his thighs.

“Fuck,” Louis shudders out, making Nick look up. He locks eyes with Louis as the younger man takes hold of his cock, giving himself one slow stroke in front of Nick’s face before tipping it toward Nick’s mouth.

Nick parts his lips to it, letting Louis sink carefully into his mouth. It stretches Nick’s lips, thick and heavy and so fucking hot against his tongue, and he laps at it, tasting salt. He’s almost prepared for Louis to work his cock in himself, to start thrusting, but he stops once a couple of inches are wrapped up in Nick’s mouth, stilling.

So, Nick takes over. He sucks Louis in, swiping his tongue over the underside as much to taste as to make it good for Louis. Bringing his hands up, he grips Louis’ fleshy hips, holding on as he takes him in with long, measured movements. His mouth feels impossibly full, his jaw aching, but he loves the feeling.

“Nick.” The sound, breathy and sweet, so fucking sweet, draws Nick’s attention away from Louis’ cock. He looks up, sees Louis’ dropped jaw, the pinched line of his brow, and his eyes, staring right back at Nick. “Hey,” he says, trailing his thumb down Nick’s hollowed cheek. “D’you want to fuck me? Because otherwise I’m gonna come soon.”

Nick slips off in one, slick motion and he breathes hard, looking up at Louis from his knees. “Do you want me to?” he asks, wanting to be sure.

Louis just smiles, offering his hand.

-

The sight of Louis stretched out on his back, legs spread with Nick’s fingers working him open, is one of the best things Nick has seen. The Eiffel Tower doesn’t compare. The Louvre, Notre Dame, Palais Garnier, none of them hold a candle to this, Louis writhing against soft white sheets, his skin tacky with a thin layer of sweat as he gives to Nick’s fingers.

“You look so,” he starts, his eyes scanning Louis’ body, but he doesn’t know how to finish it. It seems like too much to tell him he looks beautiful, and yet not nearly enough at the same time.

“I love the way you look at me,” Louis says around laboured breaths, his hands groping for the sturdy wooden headboard behind him.

Nick glances up, meeting Louis’ eyes, and they share a smile. “Like I want to eat you?” he asks, remembering how he’d gotten caught staring at Louis naked in his bed that morning. His fingers twist and Louis shudders out a gasp, his arm shooting down to grab Nick’s wrist.

“Like,” he replies, then moans softly, eyelids fluttering. “Like I’m art or something.” He tears his eyes open, looking at Nick, his hand still clamped around Nick’s wrist.

Nick bends down where he’s knelt between Louis’ legs, kissing the boy’s hip. He closes his eyes, needing to not look at him for a second. “Best art ever,” he mumbles, not even sure if Louis can hear him. “Should hang you up in the Louvre.”

It’s quiet for a beat as Nick peppers kisses to Louis’ skin, his lips moving to the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock, fingers buried deep inside him. The hand on his wrist loosens and Nick finally opens his eyes, looking up, and Louis is staring at him with want, like he’s too far away. So, he starts moving up, slowly kissing over Louis’ soft stomach, his flat chest, his tiny nipples and his jutting collarbones. He kisses up his neck, breathes in deep, and then finds his lips.

He works his fingers in slow, deep thrusts as he kisses him, their naked bodies sprawled out, tangled together. His own cock is heavy with need, resting against Louis’ hip. He hasn’t touched it once; he’d rather the first thing he feels around it be Louis.

“Fingers out,” Louis says when he pulls away from the kiss, panting soft breaths against Nick’s lips.

Nick complies, pulling his hand back until the tight warmth squeezing around his fingers is gone. He expects Louis to tell him to fuck him now, but instead he flips over, pushes himself onto his knees, and settles by the headboard, holding onto it. Spreading his knees, he looks over his shoulder with his eyebrows lifted.

“Ready?”

Nick gapes for a second, looking over Louis’ incredible body, but he doesn’t waste too much time before grabbing the condom Louis had gotten out earlier and moving into position behind him. His fingers tremble as he opens the packet, but he manages it, pulling the condom onto his dick. He slicks himself up silently, then shifts closer, his knees bracketing Louis’, his chest to Louis’ back.

He thinks he ought to say something, but he feels Louis’ hand reach back and touch his thigh and it seems like everything he could want to say is in that touch. So, he bends down to kiss Louis’ shoulder softly, then lines up and pushes in.

There are a million things Nick wants to say as he gets himself buried in Louis; he wants to tell him how fucking good it feels, how amazing he looks, how much fun he’s had with him here in Paris, how he might just be a little mad for him. There are so many things on the tip of his tongue, but not a single one comes out and it’s just as well. Their bodies seem to say it all, Louis’ going pliant and Nick’s shaking with how good it is.

He starts moving slowly, eyes closing as he focuses on the hot, tight slide of Louis’ arse around him. Louis is surprisingly quiet as Nick gets them both used to it, but when a few minutes have passed, he finally speaks up.

“Can you touch me?” he asks, voice shaking a bit.

“Of course,” Nick answers, sliding his right hand around Louis’ waist to find his cock. Before he can get his fingers around it, though, Louis shudders and grabs his wrist.

“Not there,” he says, pulling Nick’s hand up, sliding it over his stomach and his chest. “Here.” He grabs Nick’s other hand, too, moving it until Nick’s got both of his palms pressed to Louis’ front, one on his chest and one on his stomach.

His leverage is gone; he can’t pull back on Louis’ hips like this, but it’s not an issue because Louis settles back against him, grinding down with each of Nick’s thrusts. His chest is pressed to Louis’ back like this, the two of them plastered together, and he can’t fuck him hard or fast like this, but he doesn’t need to. He drags his fingers over Louis’ skin, uses the hand on his stomach to hold him close and lets the other roam to his nipple.

Louis gasps when Nick touches him there, fingertips catching on the hard nub. He arches into it, head falling back against Nick’s shoulder, and it’s so mind-blowingly hot that Nick has to close his eyes to make sure he doesn’t come.

“I like that,” Louis breathes out, his chest heaving under Nick’s gentle touch. “I like- fuck, I like this.”

 _I like you_ , Nick thinks, but doesn’t bother saying out loud. Louis certainly knows already.

He buries his face in Louis’ neck as he fucks him, fingers still playing with his nipples and making him moan sweetly. A shiver runs down his spine when Louis’ hand covers his on the younger man’s stomach, their fingers intertwining there. Nick’s cock is throbbing inside him and, when he looks down over Louis’ shoulders, he sees that he’s hard, too, a little wet at the tip.

“Can I touch you anywhere else?” he asks, nosing at the curve of Louis’ neck.

Louis nods before he can answer, “Yeah, come on.” It’s said encouragingly, just an undercurrent of impatience in his tone.

As soon as Nick’s fingers are wrapped around him, Louis moans out a long, low noise, fucking himself between Nick’s cock and his hand. Nick is shaking, damp with sweat, trying to hold out, but everything about this is so good that he’s close anyway. Louis feels amazing around him, looks incredible, smells intoxicating. The city outside is filled with romance and possibility, the air thick with it, and Nick wouldn’t mind holding Louis just like this all night long.

“Don’t stop,” Louis breathes, almost mirroring Nick’s thoughts. He means something else, though, and Nick is not going to disappoint.

He focuses on the rhythm with which he’s working Louis’ cock, fucks him nice and deep, and tips his forehead against the back of his head, breathing hard. Louis’ head tilts forward just enough that Nick can easily lean in and kiss the back of his neck, tasting his salty skin.

“You’re so wonderful,” he whispers roughly, eyes shut. He holds Louis flat against his chest with one arm, his hand splayed over his belly, the two of them pressed as close as possible.

“Christ, Nick,” Louis says as if he’s about to complain about Nick being too nice or saying too much, maybe, but he squeezes Nick’s hand tight and starts coming with a small cry before he can say anything else.

Nick shudders out a moan as Louis comes in his hand, squeezing tight around him. Louis doesn’t stop making noise as he comes, soft little throaty sounds escaping him, and Nick’s mind goes blank as he thrusts, his open mouth against Louis’ neck. It only takes a minute before he’s coming, too, holding Louis so tight that, if he were thinking properly, he’d expect the younger man to complain or shake him off. Louis is silent, though, fingernails biting into Nick’s skin as he holds on, too.

When he’s ridden it out, Nick is left feeling boneless and buzzing with the feeling of his orgasm. He pulls out carefully, but doesn’t move for a minute, staying knelt with Louis against his chest. Neither of them say a word, their breath heavy in the comfortable silence.

And even after all of that, his stomach still swoops when Louis reaches a hand back to Nick’s thigh as they come down from it, dragging his thumb back and forth over the skin there.

-

“Just use mine,” Louis insists, shoving his toothbrush in Nick’s face.

Nick fakes a vomiting noise and pushes Louis away. After a half hour of lying sprawled out on the bed together, they’d decided they should clean themselves up a bit before actually falling asleep. Now they’re fresh out of the shower – shared, this time – and Nick is realising that there are a few things of his own that would have been nice to have. A toothbrush, first and foremost, some pants, and his phone charger would be nice.

“You’re disgusting,” Nick says, his nose wrinkling. “Can’t believe I put my dick in you.”

“See? You’ll put your dick in my ass but you won’t use my bloody toothbrush?” Louis rolls his eyes and drops the toothbrush back onto the counter.

Nick doesn’t bother explaining the difference, just puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the toothpaste. He could call the front desk and have one sent up, probably, but he’s tired and not in the mood to wait around. “Will you still kiss me if I use my finger or do I have to call down for one?”

“Ew, who said I’d kiss you either way?” Louis says like the thought repulses him, but he moves closer to Nick, tucking up against his side. He’s naked, they both are, and he smells like fancy hotel soap.

Nick smacks his arse for that comment, not too hard, but Louis hisses softly anyway. “Fuck, sorry,” Nick says quickly, wrapping his arms around him. “Sore?”

Louis hums, obviously not too upset about it, and rests his head against Nick’s shoulder. “Just a bit. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I’ll hold off on spanking you for a while anyway,” Nick murmurs back, holding Louis.

“I can’t say the same,” Louis says as he pulls away with a mischievous smirk. “I’m going to bed. Brush your teeth however you want and then meet me there.”

He leaves then and Nick fumbles his way through brushing his teeth using his finger. Once he’s finished, he walks back to bed where he finds Louis stretched out over three-quarters of it. The blankets are pushed down enough that Nick can tell that Louis is still naked, so he climbs in beside him without figuring out the lack-of-clean-pants issue. He’ll see if he can nick some of Louis’ in the morning.

“Hey,” Louis says, shifting to let Nick have more space in the bed.

Nick gets settled and looks at the man beside him with a tired smile. “Hiya,” he answers softly, then lets his eyelids fall shut.

Only a few moments later, Louis’ lips brush against his in a light kiss and he whispers, “goodnight,” as he pulls away.

Nick smiles like an idiot, not bothering to open his eyes, and curls toward Louis, slinking an arm over his waist. With one last kiss to his shoulder, Nick falls still and waits for sleep to come.

His phone on the table beside him is dead and, for the first time since he can remember, he doesn’t care one bit.

-

They spend the next six days together. They go to the museums, the parks, sit at cafés, and walk aimlessly around the city. They picnic on the bank of the Seine and they look around shops and it doesn’t get old, not even after a week straight of barely leaving each other’s sides.

At night they go back to either Louis’ hotel or Nick’s rented flat and it’s different then, when they’re in bed together. During the day, Nick feels like he’s with his best friend. At night, when they’re naked and pressed together, hands roaming over sweaty skin, it feels like something else entirely. It’s such an easy transition, though, to go from laughing and teasing to stripping off each other’s clothes and fucking.

It’s not just fucking though. Nick’s known that from the very first night, but it becomes more noticeable as the days pass.

After spending over a week together almost constantly, Louis says he needs the day to himself on Friday and Nick has no problem with that. It’s totally fine, but when he sits at a café, having breakfast, he realises he’s forgotten how to explore the city without Louis’ laughter, his jokes, his spur of the moment suggestions. He doesn’t know how to amuse himself in the city, or how to let Paris amuse him.

He wanders the streets anyway, walks all morning until his feet are aching. Ending up in the Marais, he heads toward Place des Vosges and finds an empty bench, sitting down to have a cigarette. It’s a nice day, sunny and warm, and there are people spread out across the grass, enjoying picnics or just soaking in the sun. Nick has found himself a spot under some trees, enjoying the shade after walking for the past couple of hours.

His cigarette has burned down halfway when he hears a couple on the next bench murmuring French to each other. He can’t understand it, of course, but the one thing he does catch is _je t’aime_.

It’s always confused him. He only took one French class in primary school, but he’d learned that _aimer_ means _to like._ Then he learned that it also means _to love._ In English, the words are so different, the distinction between the two hard to define but important. In French, the meaning almost seems to incorporate both like and love.

Nick likes that idea, it being all wrapped up into one word. You can love your family without liking them and you can like a coworker without loving them, but when it overlaps, that’s what really matters.

Linguistically, his theory might not be sound, but it’s the reason he’s so fond of the phrase _je t’aime_. It’s less pressure than _I love you_ , has less baggage attached to it.

The couple is still talking quietly over warm smiles when he finishes his cigarette and moves on, walking toward the statue of Louis XIII and then past it, out onto the street.

That night, Louis comes over to his flat and stays the night. Nick does everything he can to hide how happy he is to have Louis there again, but he’s just not sure he succeeds.

-

A few days later, they get ice cream from Berthillon and take it down to Quai d’Orléans, sitting on the stone wall overlooking the Seine. They don’t make the trek down the stairs to the bank of the river this time; instead, they sit by the road, watching people walking by on the pavement and cars maneuvering the tiny street.

Louis grabs Nick’s hand and pulls it toward him, licking at his pistachio ice cream cone without asking.

Nick can’t bother to put up too much of a fight, just saying, “Excuse you.” It doesn’t even sound reproachful like he’d intended it to come out.

Louis ignores it successfully and moments later, he’s holding out a spoonful of his white chocolate ice cream, offering it to him. It takes Nick by surprise, even after all the time they’ve spent together over the past week and a half, after copious gentle kisses and Louis running his fingers through Nick’s hair when they’ve just come. He opens his mouth to accept the taste and hums as it hits his tongue, his eyes locked on Louis’.

“You know, I’m leaving Thursday,” Louis says before Nick has even swallowed.

“Yeah,” he answers once he’s gotten the ice cream down, the sweetness of it lingering on his tongue. He does know; he’s known since that very first text Louis sent him when Nick was wandering the streets of Paris alone. He’s known it all along, but he’s been trying not to think about it.

He knows, but he hates it.

When he really thinks about it, there’s nothing to keep him in Paris. He should probably go back to London anyway, with or without Louis, but something is keeping him away. He’s not even sure what it is. He’s unemployed, sure, but he could do any number of things. He’s gotten offers for TV shows and countless DJ-ing gigs and even a few fashion-related jobs. There are plenty of options, but he doesn’t know what to do without one big goal to shoot for, something to work toward. He’s never been in a situation like this, without the next big thing in mind. He’s already accomplished bloody everything he’d ever thought to want.

Except for the one goal he thought he was so close to achieving: getting married, settling down, having a family. He’s had so much luck in so many areas of his life but never that.

“What happened with you and your ex?” he asks, looking at Louis.

“I already told you,” Louis answers as he licks his spoon clean.

“You said he wasn’t who you thought he was,” Nick presses. “But, like, why?”

Louis doesn’t meet his gaze for a long moment and Nick is about to tell him to forget it, that he doesn’t need to answer, but then he finally speaks up. “I thought it was real,” he says, shrugging like that will make it seem like less of a big deal even though Nick can tell that it is. “We met and I fell for him and I thought it was real, but it eventually became clear that he just wanted a celebrity boyfriend. It was always the fame for him, never me.”

Nick’s chest suddenly hurts because he’s seen it happen with friends before, people hitting on them just because they’re famous. Mostly it’s annoying, but he knows how much it would hurt if they managed to get in, to hide their agenda long enough to make someone fall in love with them.

He doesn’t know what to do because he knows Louis would pull away if Nick offered sympathy, but it seems wrong not to do anything. So, he makes a bold move, tipping forward until their lips meet.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed outside of one of their rooms, out in the daylight. Nick is gentle with it, moving his lips slowly against Louis’, glad when he can feel the younger man kissing him back. He doesn’t push too far, leaning back after a few seconds and smiling.

“Had a bit of ice cream on your lip,” he lies transparently.

Louis rolls his eyes but his cheeks are pink and he almost looks flustered by the sudden kiss. It’s a good look on him. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” he says, barely able to conceal his smile.

Nick hums, shrugging. “I’m an idiot who you’ve had sex with every night for a week and a half,” he points out, grinning when Louis glares at him, punching his arm once. He settles quickly, though, and grabs Nick’s ice cream cone again, taking a bite out of it with a mischievous smile.

Looking at him, Nick can’t help but think, _je t’aime_ , but he pushes the thought from his mind, blaming it on Paris.

-

When he wakes up on Wednesday morning, he lies in bed for a while, looking at the man next to him and trying to get used to the fact that the space will be empty after tomorrow. The thought makes him ache, the hurt strong enough to surprise him. He hadn’t expected this when he came to Paris, hadn’t even expected it when he and Louis started hanging out. He thought it would be a bit of fun, someone to spend time with and have orgasms with.

He wasn’t supposed to get attached.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Louis asks flatly, eyes still closed.

Nick sighs, not even considering pretending that he wasn’t, and scoots closer. “Just putting photos of you on Instagram again,” he answers, then leans down to kiss Louis’ forehead.

Louis swats at him, his nose wrinkling, but he leans into Nick’s chest, hiding his face there. “No dick pics,” he mumbles back.

Nick smiles and closes his eyes. “No dick pics, promise.”

It’s almost alarming how unfazed Louis is by Nick’s Instagram comment, how much he seems to trust Nick. He has every reason to, of course, because Nick is not an absolute creep, but it still throws him off.

“Shall I go get us breakfast?” Nick offers, grazing his hand over Louis’ bare back.

It takes Louis a moment to respond, too sleepy to think any faster, but then he nods. “Yeah, the thing with the almonds I liked,” he answers, the words mumbled into Nick’s chest.

“Okay,” he says softly, nodding even though Louis can’t see him do it. “One ‘thing with the almonds you liked’ coming right up.”

Louis doesn’t answer as Nick slides out of the bed, searching for some clothes. He dresses quickly in a wrinkled button-up shirt and the first pair of jeans he finds, then grabs Louis’ beanie from the floor, pulling it onto his head so he won’t have to bother with his hair. As he slips quietly out of the apartment, he breathes in the fresh air, hoping it will cure the feeling rising in his chest.

It doesn’t, of course, and he kicks the pavement as he walks toward the _boulangerie_ as a little ‘fuck you’ to the City of bloody Love.

-

Louis is in the shower when Nick gets back, so he drops their breakfast on the table and heads into the bathroom, leaning inside the doorway. “Food’s here when you’re done,” he calls out over the rush of water.

Louis’ head pops out of the shower, looking more alert than when Nick had left, but still not quite his peppy self. “Hey, come here,” he says, a slight rasp to his voice, and nudges his head back toward the shower.

Nick can’t really turn down the offer, so he strips out of his clothes, pulling Louis’ beanie off and setting it on the counter, then walks to the shower and squeezes in with Louis. It’s not a big space, just enough for the two of them, and Nick has to tilt his head down to look into Louis’ eyes where he’s standing so close.

“Good morning,” he says with a little smile as the water falls over them, the air steaming just a bit.

“Morning,” Louis says, then crowds Nick’s space even more, his arms wrapping around Nick’s waist and his face tipping up to kiss his neck.

Nick shudders, closing his eyes as Louis kisses up the side of his neck, so perfectly softly, until he gets to Nick’s ear. He kisses that, too, then falls still, and Nick can’t even hear the pounding of water anymore; he can only hear Louis’ rhythmic breathing.

“Thank you,” Louis says after some time.

Nick frowns, squeezing him lightly. “For breakfast?” he asks because that would make sense, but it doesn’t sound like a ‘thank you for running out to get pastries’.

Louis shakes his head and lifts his arms to wrap them around Nick’s neck, giving him more leverage. He pulls them closer together, so close that Nick can barely breathe, has to close his eyes and try to remember that anything other than Louis exists out there in the world.

“For the past two weeks,” Louis finally clarifies, and the words sound strained, like his throat has gone tight. The thought makes Nick’s heart beat too hard, makes him bite down on his lip.

Nick swallows around nothing, fighting to keep his breathing even. “Don’t suppose you want to stay?” he asks, because he can’t deny he’s been thinking about it, about how much he wants it.

Louis sighs and, after a moment, he leans back just enough to look up into Nick’s eyes, his voice quiet when he asks, “Don’t suppose you want to leave?”

Nick has considered it, getting a ticket back on Louis’ flight, but he can’t. Not yet. He came to Paris to figure out his life and he hasn’t actually figured anything out. He can’t go back to London until he knows what’s waiting there for him.

And, if he’s completely honest, he’s not sure this thing with Louis will last in London. The thought of it scares him enough to keep him in Paris.

Louis doesn’t need Nick to vocalise any of this; he nods like he heard it all. “That’s okay,” he whispers, curling his fingers into the hairs at the nape of Nick’s neck. “The best love stories are always the short ones, yeah?”

It hits him like a punch to the chest, Louis saying that so plainly, using the word that has so much baggage attached to it. He’s not sure how to react, or if Louis even meant anything by it, so he drops down and kisses him hard, just out of reach of the water spray.

They kiss until the water starts to lose its heat, breathing each other in, and Nick’s hands are shaking where they’re cupping Louis’ face, their lips dragging together. He doesn’t want to stop, wants to kiss Louis straight through the day and into the night, wants to hold him just like this until he has to leave. The water is threatening to run cold, though, so Nick presses his forehead to Louis’ and tries to catch his breath.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” he whispers, out loud this time. He still blames Paris, but he knows that it’s true anyway.

Louis doesn’t respond right away, just slips forward to hug Nick, resting his head on his shoulder. Finally, he whispers, “yeah,” his fingertips digging into Nick’s flesh, and that one word is all the response Nick needs.

-

That afternoon, they take the metro to Montparnasse Bienvenüe and sit down at the first café they see, ordering a bottle of red wine. As they drink through it, they talk and laugh and comment on the clothing choices of passersby. They make a game of spotting the tourists based solely on their shoes and it’s so fun that Nick almost forgets the ache in his chest for a while.

“Tell me something about you,” he says, feeling quite tipsy after a couple of glasses of wine. He nibbles on the crisps the server had brought, just to tame the aggressive taste of the wine on his tongue.

Louis’ eyes are just a bit glazed as he smiles, leaning back in his chair. “My name is Louis.”

Nick throws a crisp at his face. “Something I don’t know, idiot.”

As he thinks, Louis twists his lips and Nick tries not to stare, but they’ve gone a deep shade of pink, stained from the wine. It’s distracting and he only just manages not to reach out and touch them. “Something you don’t know,” Louis repeats to himself thoughtfully, staring back at Nick. “I tell everyone I don’t dance, but when I’m home alone, I dance in the kitchen in my socks.”

Nick grins, picturing Louis spinning around in his kitchen. He’d love to see that. “What else?” he asks, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up in his hand.

Louis thinks a bit longer. “I really like fish,” he says, almost saying it like a question, like he doesn’t understand it himself. “Like even goldfish and boring ones like that? Fuckin’ love them.”

Nick laughs lightly, smiling so hard it hurts. It’s a pain he’s more than happy to bear though. “You’re so weird,” he says, reaching under the table with the hand that’s not propping his head up. He pinches Louis’ knee, then leaves his hand there, dragging his knuckles over Louis’ jeans. “What else?”

Louis’ expression goes soft and warm as he looks at him while Nick gently strokes his knee under the small table. “I’ve been to 54 countries,” he says, a small smile playing at his wine-stained lips. “I’ve been around the world more times than I can count and this is my favourite place.”

Nick takes a deep breath, head spinning from the wine and from Louis’ eyes on him. “Paris?”

Louis shakes his head. “Right here,” he says, and it’s so quiet, but everything else has died away, the city noise seeming to fade to a low hum. He can hear Louis as clearly as if he was whispering right into his ear. “Right here, right now.”

Nick’s breath gets trapped in his lungs as he stares at the man sitting beside him, his stomach fluttering wildly. He knows Louis well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t lie about that, wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. That’s what makes it so overwhelming, knowing with certainty that it’s true; Louis has been all over the world and his favourite place is here, with Nick.

“Stay,” he says, feeling desperate. “ _God_ , just stay.”

Louis gives him a sad smile and closes the distance between them, kissing him. It’s a clear enough answer and Nick knew that, of course, knew what his answer would be. He just wishes he knew how to change his mind.

They finish the last of the wine in silence and pay their bill before standing on shaky legs and making their way across the busy Boulevard du Montparnasse and down Rue de l’Arrivée, toward the looming tower ahead.

-

Someone had told Nick on Instagram that he should go to Tour Montparnasse for one of the best views of the city. It seemed like a better bet than standing in line at the Eiffel Tower all day, but he’d forgotten about it until Louis had asked him after breakfast that morning what they should do for their last day. When he’d suggested it, Louis agreed, but only if they could get drunk beforehand.

Which is why, as they walk into the building, they’re both more than a fair bit tipsy.

They pay for their tickets at the front desk, then squeeze into an elevator with a dozen other people, tucking into a corner in the back. Nick wraps his arm around Louis’s shoulders, pulling him closer, away from the others packed into the tiny space.

Apparently it’s the fastest elevator in Europe, their leaflet boasting the fact that it only takes 38 seconds to reach the top. Nick doesn’t count or watch the floor levels tick by. He tilts his head down and presses his nose into Louis’ hair to avoid feeling claustrophobic.

And then they’re being corralled off the elevator at the 56th floor and straight into a line to have a photo taken, one of those cheesy tourist things. He sees people ahead of them declining the photo op, but he feels Louis pulling him in front of the camera anyway.

“I’m drunk and I look like shit, Lou,” he says, following him anyway.

“I know,” Louis says simply as he wraps an arm around Nick’s waist, facing the photographer. “How I like you best.”

When the photo has been taken, Nick rolls his eyes and follows Louis toward the windows that line the walls. He knows, though, that the better view is three flights up, so he grabs Louis’ hand and pulls him toward the stairs leading to the top.

When they walk out onto the open-air rooftop surrounded by plate glass panels, he notices that one side is filled with people and one side is nearly empty. Everyone is trying to get a look at the Eiffel Tower, of course, but Nick has seen it, so he gestures to the empty side and Louis nods, walking with him to the edge.

They’re high enough up that Nick feels lightheaded looking down at the city. He spots the Luxembourg gardens quickly and Notre Dame beyond that.  To the left, he can see the Tuileries leading to the Louvre and to the right, he can see Panthéon, not far from his apartment.

They stand silently side by side for a while before Louis bumps their arms together. “Your turn,” he says, looking out at the city. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Nick doesn’t turn toward him as he thinks, then answers. “I dance in my kitchen, too, but you probably could have guessed that. Can’t say I’m a fan of fish, though. Prefer mammals, me.” Louis leans into his side then and Nick slides his arm around his waist. “I’m glad my ex said no,” he goes on, softer. “For a lot of reasons, really, but especially for this.”

He loved his ex-boyfriend, he did. He wouldn’t have proposed if he hadn’t, but he knows now that he was more in love with the thought of being married than he was with the man he was proposing to. It’s only been two months since it all went to shit and Nick isn’t even upset about it anymore, hasn’t been in weeks.

He’s so glad he said no, in the end. If he hadn’t, Nick never would have come to Paris and had the most incredible two weeks of his life.

“Also, I really want to learn how to jar things,” he adds. “Jams and stuff, you know? I think that would be so cool.”

Louis brings his hands up, covering his face. “Jesus Christ, Nick,” he says, laughing into his hands. “You are such a fucking nutter.”

“No, no,” Nick says. “I thought of a great business idea, see, I’ll send out monthly packages, like a subscription service? And the packages will all have a jar of jam and a CD with my current favourite songs. And I’ll call it ‘Nick’s Jams’. Get it?”

Louis has curled away from Nick’s body, actually wheezing with laughter by the time Nick finishes speaking. He laughs along, just because making Louis laugh so hard he has tears in his eyes has him feeling so fucking happy that he can’t help it.

Louis is still laughing when he turns back to Nick, stepping close to him and wrapping his arms around Nick’s shoulders. Nick just smiles, dropping his hands to Louis’ sides, and he draws his thumbs back and forth there, through his t-shirt.

They stand like that long after the laughter fades away, until the late afternoon sun gets too hot and chases them back into the building.

-

Over the past couple of weeks, Nick and Louis have had a _lot_ of sex. They’ve exchanged handjobs and blowjobs, rubbed off on each other, eaten each other out. Nick has fucked Louis and Louis has fucked Nick, slow and intense or headboard-rattling. It seems like they’ve done everything and it’s all been nothing short of spectacular.

Tonight, though. Tonight has Nick’s stomach knotted with nerves, has him shaking before it’s even started.

Nick had offered to sleep over at Louis’ hotel so it would be easier for him to get up and go to the airport in the morning, but he’d told Nick he wanted to stay in his flat. He doesn’t need to be at the airport until ten, so it won’t be too awful to get up and head back to the hotel before going to the airport.

So, Nick will have Louis in his bed one last night. And in the morning, he’ll say goodbye for who knows how long.

They take it more slowly than ever before, kissing over each other’s skin, stripping their clothes one article at a time. They snog for ages before Nick puts his fingers in Louis, one at a time, carefully fucking into him as the muscles relax around him. By the time he’s ready, they’re already sticky with a thin layer of sweat.

As Nick puts on the condom and smears lube over himself, kneeling between Louis’ thighs, he looks up at the man, naked and spread out on his back, cock hard and chest flushed.

“Would you stop being so sexy?” he mumbles, pretending to be irritated. “I want this to last and I can already tell you’re going to fuck that up for me.”

Louis grins and it looks seductive as hell, his pupils blown wide and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Sorry,” he says, not at all sincerely apologetic. “Would you rather I turned over?”

With his dick in one hand, Nick moves into position, hovering over Louis with his other hand holding him up. “As nice as your arse is,” he replies, rubbing his cock over Louis’ hole and staring down into his eyes, “I’d rather see your face tonight.”

Louis’ expression changes then, growing softer, and he reaches up to rest his hand against the side of Nick’s neck as Nick pushes in, drawing a quiet gasp from the younger man.

He always feels so fucking good inside and it’s not like Nick’s ever found an arse that _didn’t_ feel good, but he’s sure it’s better with Louis. It’s that fireworks feeling they always talk about in films; Nick feels the tiny explosions in his chest, lighting him up from the inside out. He’s had good sex before, but he’s never felt that. Not until Louis.

He’s also never been with someone who moved so fluidly with him, as if they’d choreographed it and practiced for months. It’s like that with Louis, the two of them knowing exactly where to go and what to do without saying anything. Even after fucking his ex for two years, they still had moments of clumsiness when it felt as if they were on different pages.

He and Louis are not just on the same page; they’re on the same sentence, the same word.

As he works up a rhythm, fucking Louis slowly, he stares down into the prettiest blue eyes he’s ever seen and tries not to get too lost in them. They look like the sky above Paris, the river running through it. Nick already knows that, when Louis is gone, he’ll still see him all over the city. In a way, it’s nice, like he’ll still be there. But he also knows it’ll hurt like mad.

“You feel so good,” Louis says, arousal and affection bleeding together in his tone. His legs wrap around Nick’s waist, crossing behind him, pulling him in closer.

Nick is happy to grant him that, lowering his body enough that he can lean in and kiss him, moving his hips in constant, heavy thrusts against Louis’ arse. His legs are shaking and his chest feels tight, but he doesn’t stop, sliding his tongue against Louis’ as they kiss. He feels desperate, feels Louis’ impending departure bearing down on him like a heavy weight.

When he needs to breathe, he pulls away from Louis’ lips to rest his forehead against Louis’, panting as he fucks into him. “How the fuck did this happen?” he asks, breathless, the tightness in his chest contracting even more.

“I don’t know,” Louis mumbles back, a slight whine to his voice as it hitches with each thrust. “Let’s blame Paris.”

Nick smiles, even through his breathlessness and the tightness of his chest and the fireworks; he smiles and pushes himself up enough to look into Louis’ eyes. “Been doing that from the beginning,” he says, “blaming Paris for falling arse over tit in love with you.”

Louis’ eyelids clamp shut as he says, “God,” the word drawn out over a groan. When he blinks his eyes open again, his lips are parted, shaking, and his hands are gripping desperately at Nick’s sides.

“Are you close?” Nick asks, kissing him lightly. “Will you come for me?”

Louis is trembling all over and he nods, pushing a hand between their bodies to touch himself. Nick wants to help, wants to feel him pulsing in his hand, but he can barely keep himself up. He doesn’t have the brainpower to wank Louis, too.

All he can do is fuck him, the way he knows Louis likes, and whisper into his ear, “Please come for me?”

Louis whimpers, his legs tightening around Nick’s waist, and then he’s coming between them, the wetness hitting Nick’s stomach. He watches him ride it out, staring down, because Louis coming has to be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Usually people look awkward and pained when they come, but Louis arches his body so beautifully, his face going lax as the loveliest noises Nick’s ever heard spill out of his mouth. It’s incredible to watch, has him tipping over the edge in no time, his orgasm rocking through him.

He holds himself up as he comes, but once he’s empty, he nearly collapses on Louis, feeling boneless. He manages to slip out just before he falls onto the bed next to him, his chest heaving.

After a couple of minutes, Louis slides out of bed and walks out of the room, only to return with a damp flannel. Nick watches as he peels the condom off his dick and cleans him up, surprisingly gentle. Louis gives him a small smile before disappearing again for a minute, but then he’s coming back to bed, curling up against Nick’s side.

They fall asleep in silence, everything already having been said.

-

Nick wakes up to Louis’ blaring alarm and he scowls into his pillow. Ever since he ended his run on the Breakfast Show, he’s been indulging himself in lie-ins, usually sleeping until nine or ten. It’s seven now, far too early, and Nick is not at all pleased. Plus, Louis’ alarm sounds like a bloody siren and, honestly, who chooses that sound to wake up to?

He feels the bed next to him jostle as Louis gets up and Nick settles back in, nearly falling asleep again before he realises. He remembers why Louis’ alarm is going off at all and, fuck, it’s too early to deal with the ache that quickly spreads through his chest and stomach at the thought of Louis leaving.

He waits it out, staying in bed as Louis gets ready to go, and trying to dampen the feeling. All too soon, though, Louis is leaning over the bed, resting his hand on Nick’s bare shoulder.

“I have to go,” he says, sounding nearly as tired as Nick feels.

Nick gets up then, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor because he can’t say goodbye to Louis while he’s naked. So he pulls the pants up his legs, then turns toward Louis where he’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Nick’s chest throbs just looking at him.

They walk into the living room and Nick runs a hand through his hair, knowing he probably looks terrible. Louis had said that that was how he liked him best, though, so Nick doesn’t bother feeling self-conscious about it.

“I got you something,” Louis says, grabbing a plastic bag from the table next to the sofa. Nick recognises it as the one he’d gotten when he bought some trinkets to send back to his family from the gift shop at the top of Tour Montparnasse. Confused, he waits to see what Louis pulls out.

What he pulls out is the photo of the two of them when they’d arrived at the top of the building the night before. Nick has no bloody idea how he got it without him noticing, but he can’t even bother thinking about that because the photo is demanding all of his attention. They’re clearly drunk, cheeks pink and hair messy, and Louis is grinning dopily at the camera, leaning into Nick’s side.

But Nick is looking at Louis.

The camera must have caught him a moment before he looked up because in the photo, he’s smiling down at Louis and Nick can spot it immediately, can _see_ that he’s in love with him. It’s as clear as anything, practically radiating off of him in the picture.

“I got it when you went to the loo before we left,” Louis explains, nodding down at the photo. “You nearly caught me when you came back out.”

Nick is speechless. He wasn’t planning on Louis giving him anything and it’s so early and Nick is staring at actual photographic proof that, yes, he fell in love with this man within two weeks in Paris; he fell in love and it’s such a fucking cliché, all of it, but it’s been amazing and now Louis is leaving and Nick is staying.

He can’t put words to any of his thoughts, so he places the photo on the table next to them and closes in on Louis, kissing him. He’s too tired to put too much energy into it, just presses their lips together softly, then pulls away after a few moments.

“Thank you,” he finally says, because that’s important.

“You too,” Louis replies, pulling Nick into a hug. He takes a deep breath against Nick’s neck, then says, on an exhale, “I’m gonna miss you like mad.”

Nick bites down hard on his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. “In London? Nah. You’ll forget me within hours of landing.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, managing to kick him even while they hug. He waits a beat before saying, quieter, “Right, well, I’ve got to go.”

Nick takes a long, deep breath before he steps out of Louis’ arms, only to look into his eyes. He can’t even bear to do that for long, though, because all he can think about is how he won’t get to look into those eyes anymore as he trudges on alone in the city. So he kisses him again, one last time, then takes a step back, putting some distance between them.

“Bye, love,” he says, ignoring how his voice sounds thick.

Louis smiles sadly and nods. “Bye,” he says, so soft that Nick barely hears it, then turns toward the door and slips out of the apartment.

Nick stares at the door for a few minutes, like maybe Louis will change his mind and come back, but eventually he tears his gaze away, looking around the apartment. It’s just Paris and him now; they’ll have to make it on their own.

He tacks the photo Louis had just given him to the wall before he shuffles back to bed and falls asleep alone.

-

Paris is boring without Louis.

Nick tries very hard not to blame the city; he knows that, had that two weeks with Louis never happened, Nick would still be utterly enchanted by Paris, its history and its culture and the romance of it. But walking the streets alone, he constantly wants to point things out to Louis, wants to hear him laugh.

He goes back to Centre Pompidou, but it’s not nearly as funny this time. He sits at cafés and orders a glass of wine instead of a bottle. He sits on the bank of the Seine, surrounded by people in love, and forces himself not to throw bits of baguette at them.

He hasn’t gotten a single text from Louis since he left and he hadn’t really expected to, but he keeps opening his messages, thumb hovering over the keypad. If Louis isn’t texting him, though, maybe he doesn’t want Nick texting him either. Maybe it’s just easier that way, to let it be what it was. Two weeks in Paris. A happy memory for them to think back to when they’re old and married to other people.

He inevitably always closes his texts without sending anything, flicking back through his photos instead. There are over a dozen selfies of the two of them in there, making silly faces in front of the Louvre or the Opera, in the gardens and next to the Seine.

His favourite is a failed one. They’d been standing on one of the less busy bridges between the Tuileries and Musée d’Orsay, Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor, and Nick had pulled out his phone to snap a selfie. He’d pulled Louis closer and, as he’d held up the camera, getting them both into the frame, he’d noticed their pink cheeks and matted hair, the two of them winded after walking halfway across the city.

“Christ, we look like we’ve both been well-fucked,” he’d mumbled, looking at the screen.

Louis had laughed, his eyes lighting up, and he’d turned to press his face into Nick’s shoulder. Nick snapped the photo just as Louis was curling into him, laughter in the wrinkles by his eyes, the upward pull of his mouth. Nick had taken another one after that, a proper selfie, but he likes the first one better.

His second favourite is the two of them in Nick’s bed, naked and sleepy. He always scrolls by it quickly, though, not wanting to linger on it for fear that the hurt will swallow him up whole.

-

The days pass and he gets used to sleeping alone again. Paris still feels a bit empty without Louis in it, but Nick doesn’t stop discovering the city, one step at a time, on his own.

-

After a couple of weeks, he stops sulking and starts focusing on what he came here for. He needs a goal, something to aim for. He needs to have a plan so that, if he returns to London, he won’t get lost in his own aimlessness, won’t spend entire days watching reality telly and eating ice cream straight from the container.

 _If he returns to London._ It’s so mad to think about because he loves his life in London. He loves his friends and his flat and all of it, but he’s starting to feel like maybe this is the change he needs. The longer he stays in Paris, the more he feels like he won’t be going back. At least not for a while.

Louis is a factor now, as much as Nick wishes he wasn’t. The thought of going back to London and being in the same city as him and not being _with_ him is even more painful than being a country away. And he can’t kick the feeling that they wouldn’t last in London, like real life would tear them to shreds.

So, for now, it’s Paris. He’s just not sure of the rest of it.

He decides he needs to start journaling. Everyone talks about it, how it helps clear the mind, so he heads down to a little _librairie-papeterie_ to find himself a journal on a Tuesday afternoon. The shop is empty other than the clerk behind the counter, a bloke with long dark hair and eyes so pretty that Nick notices them as soon as he walks into the shop.

He browses the journals, taking his time, and after a few minutes, the hot clerk shows up at his side, smiling, and asks something in French, too quickly for Nick to understand a word of it.

“Sorry,” he says, cringing. “ _Parlez-vous anglais?_ ”

“Oh, English!” the bloke says, his accent thick. “Where are you from?”

Nick breathes a sigh of relief. He really should learn the language better if he’s going to stay here. “London. Near Manchester, originally.”

“And you’re here for holiday?” the bloke asks, leaning against the shelves next to them.

The question is complicated and Nick’s not really sure of the answer, but he says, “Yeah,” anyway.

The bloke keeps asking him questions and Nick is glad to have someone to talk to, but the more they talk, the more Nick gets the feeling he’s being chatted up. The bloke compliments Nick’s jacket and runs his hand down the front of it, smiling, letting his fingers linger just a beat too long to be anything but flirtatious.

He’s hot and French and Nick thinks about it for a second before his stomach starts to ache unpleasantly. He thinks of the photo still tacked to his wall and the selfies in his phone and he knows it’s no use. He finds himself shrinking away from him, picking up a journal and asking if he can pay. The bloke looks a little bit put out, but he rings him up anyway, wishing him a good day.

Back in his apartment, Nick starts writing. He’s not surprised when it’s all about Louis.

-

Three weeks after Louis went back to London, Nick gets a text from him. It’s late morning and Nick is still drinking coffee, curled up in a chair by the window. His journal is next to him, half full now, and he’s looking forward to a day of filling it even more. He might take a stroll later, but for now he’s content to just sit in the sun that’s streaming in through the open window and write.

But then his phone pings and he glances down, seeing a photo on his screen. Louis has sent him a selfie of the two of them standing on a foot bridge at Canal St. Martin a month ago. There’s no caption, nothing to explain it, and Nick stares for the longest time, trying to figure it out. It was probably an accident, he decides. Maybe Louis was flicking through the photos on his phone like Nick still does and he accidentally sent it.

Before he can decide how to respond, or if to respond, another photo pops up. This one is of Nick standing in front of the Centre Pompidou with an overdramatic “what the fuck” expression on his face. Louis had taken it after they’d left the museum when they spent the whole time laughing at the art.

This time, he types out a response: _Is this some sort of riddle??_

Louis doesn’t respond. He sends another photo, the two of them outside Notre Dame. Louis is licking Nick’s face in it and Nick’s nose is wrinkled in disgust. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he smiles at the photo, biting down on his lip. That had been such a good day.

The next one is of Panthéon. Neither of them is in the shot this time, just a photo Louis had taken of the building as they walked by one day.

Then it’s Place de la Contrescarpe, just a few blocks away from Nick’s apartment. It’s a photo of Nick that he hadn’t even realised Louis had taken. He’s not looking at the camera, staring out at the roundabout instead. Studying the picture, he thinks it was the Saturday afternoon they’d had lunch there, when there had been a street musician playing piano nearby.

 _Was this all just to remind me how much i miss you because i don’t need the reminder.._ , he types, then scrolls over all of the photos that Louis has sent. He’s still scrolling when the screen jumps down to a new one, another photo.

This one is Louis’ face. Nick knows right away that it’s current because his hair is longer than it had been when he was in Paris. He looks so good that it actually hurts to look at it, at the soft smile on his face, his eyes that seem to be looking straight through the phone and at him. Nick can almost imagine that he’s there, that they’re sitting across from each other.

It takes him a couple of minutes to notice anything but his face. When he finally studies the photo in its entirety, he sees that Louis appears to be in the back of a car. Frowning, Nick zooms in a bit, focusing on the street outside of the window behind Louis’ head.

It hits him in a flash, that the photos make a trail from the north end of the city down to his apartment. And the street behind Louis’ head in the last one is Nick’s fucking street.

 _If this is a joke i’m going to be SO pissed off,_ he sends quickly, then grabs his keys and hurries out the door. He walks through the courtyard, refusing to jog just in case he’s totally wrong about this, and gets to the door that leads out to the street. Opening it, he nearly falls over when Louis is standing there at the kerb, next to a taxi.

He freezes on the opposite side of the pavement from him, staring as Louis gives him a small, almost shy smile.

“Oh, good, you’re home,” he says, flicking his hair out of his face. It really is longer now. Nick wants to shove his fingers into it.

“Are you- what the fuck?” Nick squeaks out, in shock.

Louis shrugs, like they haven’t been apart for three weeks, like his sudden surprise arrival isn’t a big deal. He looks nervous, though, and it cuts right through his casual gesture. “I was just thinking, it’s stupid, you know?” he says, shuffling his feet. “Me in London, missing you. You here, missing me.” He pauses, peering over Nick. “You do, still, don’t you?”

It’s enough to finally break Nick out of his shock, sending him across the pavement and kissing Louis hard. He gets his fingers in the man’s hair, holds him close, and doesn’t pull away until his head is swimming with lack of oxygen.

“Every bloody day,” he whispers, looking into Louis’ eyes.

Louis stares back, breathing hard from the kiss, then nods. “Right, well, it’s stupid then,” he goes on, quieter now. “So if the offer’s still on the table, I think I’d like to stay.”

Nick doesn’t realise how wide his grin has spread until his cheeks hurt with it. “Okay,” he answers, nodding, dragging his fingers through Louis’ hair. “But only because Paris missed you terribly. Hasn’t been the same since you left.”

Louis laughs, rolling his eyes, and squeezes Nick around the middle. “It hasn’t, huh?”

Nick kisses him again, just because he can. He wants to and he can and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. “Nope,” he answers against Louis’ lips.

When they finally break apart, Louis pays the taxi driver who seems to be growing more and more impatient and then Nick helps him drag two massive suitcases inside. They dump them in the bedroom to deal with later, then fall onto the sofa in the living room, where they spend the whole afternoon snogging and talking and laughing like Nick hasn’t laughed since he left.

“Oh, I figured out what I want to do, like, career-wise,” Nick says at one point, during a break from the snogging. They’re lying across the length of the sofa, Louis pressed to the back of it, and Nick can’t stop touching him, trailing his fingers over the curve of Louis’ waist where his t-shirt has ridden up.

“Please don’t tell me it’s Nick’s Jams,” he replies flatly.

Nick laughs, but shakes his head. “No, I’m saving that one as a back-up,” he says, his laughter fading until only a smile remains. “Actually, I decided I want to try writing a book. Maybe something about the entertainment industry or, I don’t know, just something from my life. I still have to figure it out, but I started writing this journal and I really liked it. I think maybe I could even be good at it.”

Louis is listening attentively, actually interested in what Nick is saying, and it makes Nick’s stomach flutter happily. “That’s actually a really good idea,” he says. “What did you write about in the journal?”

The question makes Nick flush involuntarily. It’s not as if Louis doesn’t know how mad he is for him, so it shouldn’t feel like giving too much away, but it does make his face heat up. “Well, you,” he says slowly, looking down at where his hand is curled around Louis’ waist, pressed against his warm skin. “You and me and our two week-long love affair in the most romantic city in the world.” He bites down on his lip and looks up into Louis’ eyes. “That sort of thing, you know.”

He’s expecting Louis to give him a small smile or maybe even close himself off a little, but his face absolutely lights up. “Can I read it?” he asks, excited.

Nick laughs again, rolling his eyes. “You were _there_ , you know.”

“So I know what a great story it is,” Louis says, smirking.

Nick can’t argue with him on that. It was a great story and it still is, with every moment that passes. “Later,” he says, pressing a kiss to Louis’ already kissed-pink lips. “You’ll read it later.”

Louis doesn’t answer, pulling Nick in closer as they kiss, long and slow. And Nick knows that this is all still really new and he doesn’t know what will happen, but he’s not worried about it. He’s not going to get ahead of himself like he did with his ex; he’s happy to just kiss the afternoon away in Paris and take it one moment at a time.

Later, when he comes into the bedroom after having a wee and brushing his teeth, he has to navigate around Louis’ limbs to get into bed. It’s so much better than crawling in between cold, empty sheets, though, so he doesn’t complain.

Grabbing his phone, he checks his Instagram feed one last time before bed and sees that Louis has just posted a picture of the two of them. It’s one of them sitting by the Seine the day they’d gotten ice cream from Berthillon, the two of them pulling silly faces in it. Nick never would have chosen that one in a million years to post, but it still makes him smile.

Louis’ caption reads: _love this idiot._

After that, it moves right to the top of Nick’s favourites.


End file.
